


the animal in me

by trishapocalypse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Shotgunning, artist!zayn, idk man paint sex???, shy!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trishapocalypse/pseuds/trishapocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Zayn is a brooding art student and Harry owes Lou a favor. </p><p>(Or: Zayn paints on Harry and sex ensues.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the animal in me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pastlives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastlives/gifts).



> I don't know, man, I write whatever Tari wants, I guess?? Thoroughly self-indulgent, hastily beta'd, written at one am, the usual? All mistakes are mine, this never happened, blah blah. Let me know what you think! Enjoy!
> 
> tumblr: @trishanthemum :)

He was a friend of Lou's and that's all Harry knew about him. He might've owed Louis a favor (or two or twelve) because, well, Harry was smart, yeah? But he didn't like to apply himself to things he didn't care about. And his poetry course had been at the bottom of his priority list. Well, until he had a paper due, and he wasn't even sure who Mina Loy was, but Louis knew and Harry was very, very convincing. (It took two beers, two shots, a promise of a blowjob, and the guarantee that Harry would owe him one favor and he would do it, without question—but just one.)

So. That's how Harry found himself in that particular predicament where he was pounding on the door of a studio flat because apparently the one favor he owed Louis was technically a favor for someone else. The door swung open and a boy stepped out, black beanie hiding his hair, a gray tank top loose over his chest, a few tattoos poking out, and black joggers and, fuck.

"You Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"M'Zayn. C'mon in."

Harry swallowed and followed him into the flat. The inside was just as small, a mattress thrown against the corner as if it were a second thought, a futon pressed against another wall, a laptop set on a desk, and no kitchen table in sight. The majority of the flat was covered in white sheets, stained with paint and charcoal, a few easels, an array of sketchbooks and canvasses, and a lot if semi-empty paint tubes.

"Thanks for doing this, mate, I owe you one," Zayn told him.

Harry smiled. "Don't worry about it. Favors are what got me into this mess," he muttered.

Zayn didn't respond, instead he just rose his eyebrows.

"Not that this is a mess," Harry added quickly. "It's not—You're not—It's just—" he sighed. "I'll stop now."

"So you've never modeled for an artist before?"

"Are artists even allowed to call themselves artists?"

The corner of Zayn's lips rose. "Yeah, we're allowed. Sounds better than saying I'm unemployed anyway."

Harry laughed loudly but stopped when he saw the look that Zayn was giving him. "Sorry. Should I not laugh at that? That wasn't a joke, was it?"

Zayn shook his head, turning away and picking up one of his sketchbooks. "You don't have to ask me for permission to do anything," he told him with a shrug.

Harry nodded. "Okay. So..." he trailed off, watching Zayn gather some materials together. The kid was one of the silent, brooding types, and Louis hadn't told Harry that so he couldn't prepare. "Are you in your first year?"

"Yeah," Zayn said with a nod, pulling some pillows off the mattress and setting them up against the wall. "Sit there," he instructed, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

Harry nodded and did as he was told, sitting down against the pillow. "Can I take my boots off?"

Zayn waved his hand carelessly, exhaling deeply. "Don't care, mate."

Harry set his boots to his side and watched Zayn as he finished his cigarette, stubbing it out into one of his many ashtrays. "How do you want me to sit?"

"Comfortably," Zayn told him, opening his sketchbook and sitting down across from Harry. He rested the sketchbook on his lap before he looked at Harry, really studying him and, yes, Louis knew how to deliver. All Zayn had said was _find someone who is plain but stunning, someone unexpected_ and Louis had told him _no problem_ and now, here he was, here Harry was, and oh, he could be a problem. "Tilt your head more to the right."

Harry did so and sucked in a deep breath. The flat was quiet, there was no music playing in the background, and Harry was a talker. He wanted to know something, anything, and everything about the dark-eyed man in front of him because, Christ he was beautiful and Harry should buy Louis a thank-you card or something. "Is this for one of your classes?"

"Yes."

"Just have to draw someone?"

"Yup."

Harry nodded.

"Don't move your head," Zayn instructed. "And yeah, just a portrait. We'll be turning it into a painting at some point."

"Why did Louis ask me to do it?"

Zayn shrugged. "You'd have to ask him that."

"Why did you ask Louis to find you someone?"

Zayn shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Because Lou knows everyone." He couldn't even be mad at the kid for talking so much, even if he wanted to, because it was endearing. And if he spent too much time sketching Harry's mouth, well, that's just how it worked.

"How did you meet Lou?"

"At a club," Zayn answered, smudging his finger across the outline of Harry's curls to give them a softer charcoal edge against stark white paper. He had always been a quick sketcher, and it didn't have to be /perfect/, but part of him wanted an excuse to stare at Harry longer, and another part of him wanted Harry shirtless, so.

"Same here," Harry said. "The bastard is so charming when he's on the pull. S'that how he got you too?"

Zayn smirked. "Not quite."

Harry froze. "Oh, are you not—I didn't mean to imply—" because Christ shit _fuck_ it wouldn't be fair if Zayn was straight because he was already basically a walking wet dream and of course that would be Harry's luck and the poor bastard was probably uncomfortable with Harry because his gayness could probably be seen from space and--

"I was the one pulling him. Didn't end quite how I envisioned, though," he muttered.

Oh. Well at least he had a chance, Harry told himself, because if he was trying to go home with Louis then. Well. Harry definitely had a chance, because he might've been a little awkward but that was in now and he could be charming and flirtatious just like Louis. "Why not?"

"Louis and I share one basic quality that rendered us completely incompatible."

"Which is...?" Harry prompted, letting curiosity get the better of him.

"We don't bottom," Zayn told him with a smirk, catching his eye briefly over the top of the sketchbook.

Harry shook his head, pursing his lips. "That's too bad," he mumbled.

Zayn reached out, grabbing Harry's chin and repositioning his head. "Stop fidgeting, mate, I'm nearly done with the outline and then you can move a bit, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry said quietly because he didn't want to nod again and potentially ruin Zayn's picture.

Zayn's hand lingered, thumb rubbing across Harry's cheekbone and leaving a trail of charcoal in its wake. His skin was soft and Zayn wondered briefly if he was soft all over, deciding that, yeah, he probably was, and then he told himself to focus, focus.

"So you've never bottomed?"

"Have you ever topped?"

Harry paused. "No, but I don't really want to," he told him. "I like being fucked, being stretched, I just..." he trailed off, blushing furiously.

Zayn bit his lower lip, pencil stalling against the paper. "You can go on, you know."

"Don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

"Talking about sex doesn't make me uncomfortable."

"Because you're an _artist?_ " Harry teased.

"Because I like sex," Zayn said with a shrug. "We're humans, we're sexual beings, and we shouldn't be afraid or ashamed to discuss our interests or our kinks."

"Sound like you've thought that out a bit," Harry mumbled.

"Some. Always forget not everyone is as open as I am about things. Makes conversation a bit awkward at parties," he said with a self-deprecating grin. "Do you never talk about it?"

"Only with Lou," Harry said, eyes watching as Zayn continued to sketch. Harry wanted to move, if only a little bit, because Zayn was attractive and sketching him and talking about sex and it was almost too much.

"What do you like? What gets you all hot, what gets you off?"

"I like... I don't know," he said with a shake of his head and a sigh.

"Are you uncomfortable?" Zayn asked.

"No."

Zayn grinned. "Are you nervous?"

"A little," Harry admitted.

"Why?"

"Because you're fit—"

"So are you," Zayn said with a pointed stare. "And I _know_ you've heard it before. Guy like you? Probably hears it all the time."

Harry flushed and ducked his head, scratching at the back of his neck because yeah, okay, he had heard it a time or two.

"Do you like being called fit?"

Harry shrugged.

"Sexy? Handsome? Cute?" he offered, each one eliciting a similar response from the curly-headed boy. Zayn laughed softly. "No, you don't like any of them. Pretty? I don’t—" he paused when Harry flushed and ducked his head again. "And we have a winner," he mused.

"It's not like that," Harry whispered.

"You don't like being called pretty?"

"I do, but it's not like... _that._ "

"Then what's it like?" Zayn asked.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I like being told what to do. I like...being praised, I guess?" And when he said he talked about it with Lou, he really meant he tried to talk about it with Lou but it usually ended in a fit of giggles and a lot of embarrassment. "I like making others feel good."

Zayn sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and watched Harry for a moment. He didn't even care about the bloody sketch anymore; this was far more interesting. "Do you like when someone calls you a good boy?"

Harry swallowed, cheeks flushing instantly. "I'm too sober for this conversation," he muttered.

"Got just the thing," Zayn muttered, setting his sketchbook on the edge of his mattress and standing up. He walked over to his dresser, pulling out a baggie and reaching in, pulling out a spliff. It was his last one and, hell, he didn’t even smoke that much, and he didn’t share when he _did_ smoke, but Harry was there and… “Ever smoked weed?” he asked, walking over to where Harry was sitting and he sat down next to him.

Harry shook his head.

“Think it’s just what you need right now,” Zayn teased. He set the spliff between his lips and pulled out his lighter. It wasn’t strong by any means, not enough to get him high, but it would be just enough to take the edge off for Harry because he wasn’t ready for this conversation to end. He inhaled deeply, holding in the smoke for a few seconds, before exhaling next to Harry’s face. He held out the spliff to Harry. “Go on.”

Harry was hesitant but he took the spliff from Zayn anyway. “How do I…”

“Just inhale, hold it, and exhale. Not too much though, I don’t want you choking to death,” he said with a grin.

Harry did as he was told and, maybe he held the smoke in for too long because he started coughing violently, causing Zayn to have to clap him on the back.

“Y’alright?”

Harry nodded, handing the spliff back to him. “Probably not my thing,” he said, voice deep and throat a little scratchy. 

Zayn smiled, wrapping his lips around the spliff and taking another drag. “Takes practice, time to get used to it is all,” he said with a shrug. 

“I’ll just leave that up to you. At least you look good while you’re doing it,” he said softly.

“Thanks,” Zayn said, exhaling the smoke out of his mouth. He watched Harry for a moment, watched the way he fiddled with the watch on his wrist. He reached out, grabbing his wrist, sliding his fingers underneath the cuff of the watch; Harry shivered. “Take that off.”

Harry responded immediately, unclasping his watch and sliding it off of his wrist. He set it aside, next to his boots, absent-mindedly running his fingers over the exposed skin.

“Can I try something?”

“What—“

“Never tried it before,” Zayn said, resting a hand on Harry’s knee as he changed positions, sitting cross-legged directly in front of him. “Open your mouth.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You’re sitting in the wrong state if that’s what you want, mate.”

Zayn laughed. “Not where I was going. Not yet, anyway,” he added. “Actually, that’s a good idea. We can get to that.”

Harry flushed. “I didn’t mean—“

“You did,” Zayn interrupted. “And you’ve got the lips for it, so why not?”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. “Now, wait just a minute—“

“Just like that,” Zayn said, reaching out to trail his fingers over the side of Harry’s jaw, over his chin, over his lips, his fingertips barely dipping inside of his mouth. “Don’t move, all right? I’m gonna take a puff, then blow the smoke into your mouth, all right?”

“Is that safe?” Harry asked quietly.

Zayn smirked. “We’ll find out.”

“What do I do with it? Swallow it?”

“I don’t know, mate, never done it before,” he said with a shrug. “Just breathe, all right?”

Harry nodded, parting his lips and waiting and trying not to feel incredibly awkward. 

Zayn admired the sight for a few seconds before raising the spliff to his lips, inhaling deeply. He rested his hands on Harry’s knees and leaned forward, their mouths barely centimeters apart, and he exhaled the smoke into Harry’s mouth. Harry took it in stride, eyes shutting the same time his lips did and he swallowed. 

Harry bit back a cough, his eyes watering slightly. After a second, he rubbed at his eyes. “Was that right?”

Zayn bit his bottom lip before finishing off the spliff, stubbing it out into an ashtray. “Your mouth should be illegal,” he muttered because, Christ, Harry’s voice had gone all rough and scratchy again and Zayn wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

So he did.

Zayn crushed their mouths together, hands cupping the sides of Harry’s face as he kneeled in front of him. Harry might’ve been barely taller than him, but from the way Zayn was kneeling, he had the advantage. He straddled Harry’s lap and tilted his head back to change the angle. Harry moaned deep in his throat and Zayn pressed his thumbs to Harry’s chin, right below his bottom lip, forcing his mouth open. Harry’s hands grabbed Zayn’s thighs, gripping them tightly, as Zayn’s tongue slid into his mouth. 

And, Christ, Harry had kissed before, been kissed, even, by some very great kissers. But this, this was different. Zayn was rough and demanding, exploring every inch of his mouth as if he belonged there, tongue sliding over the roof of his mouth, barely touching his tongue, tracing his lips and Harry was moaning, fingers digging into Zayn’s thighs.

Zayn pulled away, just barely, dragging his tongue along Harry’s lower lip, tugging it with his teeth. Harry whimpered, causing Zayn to pull away and sit down in his lap. Zayn smiled, lips swollen, and he ground his hips down against Harry, feeling him hard beneath him. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut and his rested his head against the wall behind him. Zayn slid his hands down Harry’s throat, thumbs tracing his barely visible collarbone, before running down his chest and stopping at his belt buckle. 

“You’re so fucking pretty, Harry,” Zayn whispered against his lips like it was a mantra.

Harry bit back a moan. “Don’t—“

“Y’alright?”

“Need a minute,” he muttered, sucking in a deep breath.

Zayn smiled because, Christ, one kiss and Harry already looked wrecked, debauched, and he instantly wanted to see how far he could push him. “Can I try something?”

Harry paused. “Like what?”

“Trust me.”

“Okay,” Harry said with a quick nod. Because the last time Zayn wanted to try something, it turned out very, very good. So he could give it another shot, why not?

“Take your shirt off.”

“What?”

“Take your shirt off,” Zayn repeated, standing up. He peeled his tank top over his head, tossing it aside, before pushing off his joggers, leaving him naked in the middle of the room.

Harry stumbled to his feet, tugging his shirt over his head because Zayn was naked, and Zayn was glorious, and that was a level that he desperately wanted to be on. He shoved his jeans down his legs, kicking them aside, and he was hard. Zayn was sporting a semi and didn’t look ashamed, so Harry tried as hard as he could to mirror the confident sentiment when all he wanted was to drop to his knees and ask Zayn to let him suck his cock. 

“Lay down on the sheet,” Zayn told him.

Harry nodded, lying back against the cool white sheet and sucking in a deep breath. He rested his hands behind his head, telling himself to relax, be cool, but it wasn’t working.

Zayn shifted through his paint supplies, tossing some stuff next to Harry’s head before kneeling down over top of him. He straddled Harry’s hips, avoiding his hard cock, and he picked up a tube of paint, squirting some across Harry’s chest.

“What are you—“

“Ssh,” Zayn interrupted, picking up one of his paint brushes. “I want to paint on you.”

“Why—“

“Don’t talk, Harry,” Zayn told him, no real force behind his tone but he had a feeling that Harry would listen to him. He ran his brush through the blue paint, trailing it across Harry’s chest, from one nipple to the other, and back again, until all four were connected through a series of blue lines. He picked up a tube of purple next, mixing it with the blue and dragging his brush down the center of Harry’s chest, causing the boy to moan and fist his fingers into his curls.

“Zayn—“

“Ssh,” he repeated, reaching for Harry’s cock and fisting the base, pulling it away from his stomach. He swirled the brush around Harry’s navel, dipping in slightly, another moan slipping past his lips. He brushed the paint around the base of Harry’s cock, stroking him lightly. “This might be my greatest masterpiece yet,” he teased.

“Christ, Zayn,” Harry choked out. “M’gonna—if you don’t stop—“

Zayn grinned at that, releasing his hold on Harry’s cock as he reached for another tube of paint, a dark green. He tossed the brush aside and spread the green paint across Harry’s hips. He picked up a clean brush and swirled it in the paint, drawing a heart on each of Harry’s hipbones. He briefly trailed a finger across the underside of Harry’s length, feeling him twitch. “Who knew you’d be turned on by a few brush strokes,” he muttered, running the paintbrush all the way up Harry’s chest and stopped by his clavicle. 

Harry shuddered, a whimper escaping his lips. “Zayn, please—“

“You don’t want to come just yet, do you? We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet,” Zayn muttered, pouting. 

Harry sucked in a deep breath, chest rising and falling. He tried to calm himself down, breathing evenly.

“Such a good boy,” Zayn praised him, wrapping his fingers around his length again. He stroked him slowly, leaning down to press his lips against the side of Harry’s throat. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

Harry licked his lips involuntarily, silenced when Zayn’s tongue traced his lips as well. He wound one hand through Zayn’s hair, pulling their lips together. Zayn sucked Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth again, biting him roughly, before pulling away.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to finger me,” Harry gasped out as Zayn’s hand tightened around him. 

“And…?

“Want you to stretch me open with your tongue, fuck me ‘til I can’t walk,” Harry told him, his grip in Zayn’s hair tightening, tugging at the strands.

Zayn bit back a hiss, bringing his hand up to Harry’s face, trailing his fingers across his lips. “Want to get them wet for you?”

Harry nodded eagerly as Zayn slipped two fingers between his lips. Harry’s tongue darted out immediately, sliding around and between them, slicking them up as best as he could. He refused to let Zayn out of his arms to find lube and, fuck, he really didn’t even care at that point, he wanted to feel the stretch and the burn of being open, being fucked, and he just didn’t _care._ He pulled his mouth away from Zayn’s fingers. “M’ready.”

Zayn pressed his lips against Harry’s briefly as he reached between his legs, fingertips pressing at his hole gently. “Don’t come yet, all right?”

Harry nodded and moaned as Zayn slid two fingers into him. He sucked in a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. He met Zayn’s eyes, whose pupils were blown wide as he watched Harry push back against his fingers. He pressed a kiss to the base of Harry’s neck before sliding down his body, trailing his tongue over the juncture where his thigh met his pelvis. Harry gasped, hips pressing up against the friction.

Zayn tapped Harry’s knees, causing the boy to raise them, feet flat against the sheet covering the hardwood floors. He pressed a kiss to the base of Harry’s cock before moving even lower, his tongue darting out against Harry’s hole. He slid his tongue into Harry alongside his fingers; Harry’s hands fisted in Zayn’s hair as he gasped, his back arching. Zayn slid in a third finger, feeling him clench around him, and he moved his tongue faster.

“Zayn, fuck, Zayn, Zayn,” Harry rambled like it was a mantra, eyes shut tightly, as he pushed his hips down further against Zayn’s face. “M’gonna come if you don’t…if you don’t… _Christ!_ ”

Zayn pulled away, running his tongue up the base of Harry’s leaking cock. His eyes landed on Harry’s face and, fuck, he had never been so turned on in his life. Harry’s cheeks were flushed, his chest rising and falling quickly with his sharp intake of breath, and Zayn had to resist the urge to slam into him right then and fuck him mercilessly, because he wanted to ruin Harry, yes, but he also wanted him to enjoy it. He ran his hands soothingly over Harry’s thighs. “I’ll be right back, okay, love?”

“No,” Harry said instantly, wrapping his legs around Zayn’s waist. 

“I don’t have a condom, Harry, I need to get one,” he told him.

“No,” he repeated. “Don’t care. Wanna feel you.”

Zayn bit his bottom lip, holding back a moan. He was safe, he was always safe, but the thought of fucking Harry bare was _too much._ “Harry—“

“M’clean,” he forced out. “You?”

“Yeah,” Zayn said with a nod, hands still massaging the top of Harry’s thighs.

“Then just fuck me, Christ,” Harry moaned. “Wanna feel you, want you to come inside me, wanna feel you come, Zayn,” he rambled, head falling back against the ground as he weakly pushed his hips up towards Zayn.

Zayn moaned aloud at that, unable to hold it back because, fuck, Harry had a _mouth_ on him that was just sinful. He positioned himself between Harry’s legs and thrust in deeply, Harry gasping at the sensation. Zayn moaned as he bottomed out before sucking in a deep breath, allowing Harry time to readjust before he pulled out, thrusting in again. Harry reached for Zayn’s arms, sliding them around Zayn’s back, nails digging into the soft skin of his shoulder blades. 

Harry was already close, so close, raising his hips to meet each and every one of Zayn’s thrusts. Zayn gripped Harry’s hips, holding them off the ground and slamming back into him, hitting that bundle of nerves every single time. Harry clenched tightly around him, whimpers and moans escaping him that he couldn’t stop.

“M’gonna come, Zayn, _fuck_ —“

Zayn wrapped his hand around Harry’s leaking cock, fisting him tightly. He swiped his thumb over the head once, twice, and Harry came over his fist, a moan of Zayn’s name escaping his lips. Harry clenched around him and Zayn fucked him faster, holding his thighs apart, consumed with just feeling _Harry._ Harry’s nails dug into his back as he whimpered, Zayn’s cock striking the oversensitive bundle of nerves inside of him. Three thrusts later and Zayn came, spilling inside of him with a groan. 

Harry whimpered as Zayn pulled out of him and collapsed next to him, spent and out of breath. Harry could feel Zayn’s release between his thighs and he probably should have been disgusted, but he wasn’t. He trailed a hand down his stomach, brushing past his cock, and dipping inside of himself. 

Zayn watched Harry and let out a curse. “Fuck, Harry, how are you even real?” he muttered as he watched Harry slip two fingers inside of himself.

Harry moaned, he was sensitive, way too sensitive, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was full and empty at the same time and he just wanted to _touch._

Zayn reached out, his fingers tracing Harry’s knuckles where they disappeared inside of his body, and he slipped one in next to him.

Harry gasped, feeling his cock twitch and no, no, it was too soon, it was too much, he couldn’t. He just…couldn’t. 

“You’re bloody perfect,” Zayn commented, adding a second finger and stretching Harry wider. Harry went to pull out his hand, but Zayn stopped him, pushing their fingers in together.

“Too much,” Harry whimpered. “Stop, Zayn—too much.”

“You sure?” Zayn asked, watching as Harry’s cock started to harden again. 

Harry gasped as Zayn crooked his wrist, fingertip brushing across the spot that made him shiver. He was panting then, in time with Zayn’s thrusts, until he was hard and leaking against his stomach again. 

“Think you can come again?” Zayn asked, crawling onto his knees between Harry’s legs. He knew Harry’s wrist had to be aching from the awkward angle, where his fingers where twined with Zayn’s, thrust deep inside his body. He had never seen someone more beautiful, so on the edge, and Harry shut his eyes as he gasped. Zayn pressed a kiss to Harry’s inner thigh and he heard him sniffle. “Y’alright, love?”

Harry nodded, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his fist. “S’too much,” he whispered, the corners of his eyes were wet.

“I’ll stop the second you ask me to, Harry,” Zayn told him.

“Don’t stop,” Harry managed to say. “Can you—“

“Can I what?” Zayn asked.

Harry whimpered. “Touch me, please, I wanna come so bad,” he whispered, his throat sore and scratchy.

“I am touching you, Harry,” Zayn said softly, crooking his fingers inside of him. He pressed a kiss to Harry’s hip; right above the heart he had painted there earlier that was only slightly smeared. 

“Christ, Zayn, put your mouth on me, wanna feel your lips, wanna feel you,” Harry rambled, his voice dropping an octave.

Zayn smiled and wrapped his lips around the head of Harry’s cock, feeling the boy shiver beneath him. He fingered him slowly as he slid his mouth further down. He could feel Harry falling apart again, he could hear the curses slipping past his lips, incoherent and broken, and Harry weakly pushed his hips up, lazily fucking Zayn’s mouth. Zayn moaned around him and Harry gripped his hair tightly, tugging at the strands as he came a second time, shuddering, utterly spent. Zayn pulled away, licking his lips, and he slowly pulled his fingers away from Harry.

Harry whimpered, reaching blindly for Zayn. “C’mere,” he whispered, voice hoarse, and he wasn’t sure where Zayn was, but he wanted to be in his arms, wanted to be held, needed someone to bring him back down from wherever he had gone that was amazing and perfect and—“Zayn?”

“I’m here,” Zayn said, lying down next to him. He pulled at a corner of the sheet that was covering the floor and he wiped his hand off. “I’m gonna get a flannel, I’ll be right back.”

“No,” Harry pouted, reaching for him again but finding nothing. He barely heard water running in the background before a cool, wet flannel was wiping down the inside of his thighs, briefly touching his hole, and he jerked away. “Too much,” he repeated, turning onto his side. He heard a squelch of paint and ignored it, he didn’t even care that he was completely covered in paint and come. He felt Zayn wipe at the back of his thighs and he let out a soft sigh. 

Zayn tossed the flannel aside and curled up behind Harry, running his fingers through his curls.

Harry sighed again, nuzzling back against Zayn and letting out a sound that almost sounded like a purr. 

“You’re such a good boy, Harry,” Zayn whispered against his neck. “Such a good boy for me. I’m so proud of you.”

Harry smiled sleepily. “M’glad Mina Loy.”

Zayn laughed softly. “Mina Loy?”

“M’glad for her,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“Had Lou write a paper on her, owed him, met you,” Harry told him.

Zayn smiled, pressing a kiss to the back of Harry’s neck. “Y’alright?”

Harry nodded. “That’s what I like, by the way,” he told him. “All of this.”

“I’m glad,” Zayn told him, nuzzling the back of his neck. 

“Did you ever finish your sketch?” Harry asked.

Zayn paused because, no, he hadn’t. And, right, that’s why Harry had come over—a sketch, his class, his midterm, but that didn’t even matter. Because he had Harry in his arms and he just had the best sex of his _life_ and his midterm just didn’t matter. “No, I didn’t. Not a big deal, though.”

“You can finish it later,” Harry told him, reaching for Zayn’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “After we do that again.”

Zayn laughed, kissing Harry’s cheek. “Go to sleep, pretty boy.”


End file.
